


Your Half

by Celia_and



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Antagonism, Epistolary, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Happy Ending, Himbo Ben Solo, Online Classes, Reference to illness and medical treatment of a parent, Smut, Students, Texting, class projects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26935294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celia_and/pseuds/Celia_and
Summary: Classmates Rey and Kylo get off on the wrong foot. Too bad they’re partners for the whole semester...
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 71
Kudos: 563
Collections: Ijustfellintothissendhelp





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A text fic originally posted on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CeliaAnd2/status/1311094445354475525) based on this meme:

**Week 1 of 15**

* * *

**Week 2 of 15**

* * *

**Week 3 of 15**

* * *

**Week 4 of 15**

* * *

**Week 5 of 15**


	2. Chapter 2

**Week 6 of 15**

* * *

**Week 7 of 15**

* * *

**Week 8 of 15**

* * *

**Week 9 of 15**

* * *

**Week 10 of 15**

* * *

**Week 11 of 15**


	3. Chapter 3

**Week 12 of 15**

* * *

**Week 13 of 15**

* * *

**Week 14 of 15**

* * *

It’s strange, being outside after 3 a.m. He’s usually awake then anyway, but there’s a difference between being awake and being outside. The night isn’t hospitable. The shadows have shadows. He buries his hands deeper in his coat pockets.

It wasn’t hard to find the Starbucks she was talking about. There are a few near that Whole Foods, but only one that’s open 24 hours. He won’t go in, of course. He just wants to see her. Just once.

He sees her immediately through the plate glass, nestled in an easy chair. Her boots lying on the floor and her feet tucked up under her. She’s asleep, with her fists nestled by her face like she needs protection even when she sleeps. She’s wearing thin black leggings and a baggy grey sweater. She shivers in her sleep. She must be cold.

But not for long. The guy sitting in the chair beside her looks over and smiles and takes her coat from the armrest to drape it over her gently. He must be Finn. He looks kind. He looks like the boyfriend that she should have. He gets up after checking to make sure the coat completely covers her knees and shoulder, and goes to the counter to order something. Rey stirs and frowns in her sleep.

Kylo could go inside. But he won’t. He’ll just take what little he’s snatching and then go back to his life. Finn is on his phone, waiting for his order to be ready. Rey blinks awake groggily. He could go inside.

He won’t. Of course he won’t. What would he even say? How would he resist bending down and kissing her cheek where it’s flushed red from sleep? He won’t go in. He won’t.

Right?


	4. Chapter 4

“Oi! Is there a problem?”

He jumps a foot. He hadn’t even noticed Finn come outside.

“See, it’s just that you’ve been standing here in the dark staring at my friend for a while now, so it kind of seems like there might be. A problem.”

Over Finn’s shoulder, he sees Rey blearily look over in their direction. “No,” he mutters hurriedly, turning to go. “Sorry. My mistake.”

“Yeah!” Finn yells after him. “That’s what I thought!”

It was, after all. A mistake.

* * *

**Week 15 of 15**

His doorbell rings on Saturday evening, an hour after he pressed _submit_ on their last assignment. She’d emailed him her half as an attachment with nothing in the body of the email. That hurt, a little. It hurt more than a little. But that’s it. The semester is over. Time to move on.

He goes to the door wearily. It’s probably his neighbor down the hall complaining about something again. The guy expects the whole floor to feel equally passionately about things like one of the building’s twelve washing machines being broken. Ben doesn’t. He approaches the peephole quietly so he can retreat undetected. But instead of a shock of red hair and a pinched, pale frown, he sees the face that’s imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

_Rey._

His fingers scramble to unbolt the door before she decides to leave. He yanks it open.

“Oh,” she says, looking up at him. Like she was...surprised to see him?

“Rey?” She’s even more beautiful up close. “What are you...How did you find where I live?”

She fiddles with the zipper of her coat. “White Pages. You’re the only Benjamin Solo in Boston. I mean, I know that’s not what you—your legal name.”

He leans against the doorframe with one hand and props the door open wider. “You seemed surprised to see me?”

She shakes her head hurriedly. “Not to see you. You just open the door all of a sudden and you were standing there, and you’re just...” she gestures vaguely toward his chest. “Big.” She stuffs her hands in her pockets.

He swells by about two inches. “Would you like to come in?”

She nods silently. She carefully avoids touching him as he holds the door open for her. He closes it behind and turns to face her. She takes her hands out of her pockets to wring them in front of her.

Why does it feel like his heart just walked into this apartment?

He clears his throat. “So, what are you...”

She cuts him off. “I think we should have sex. If you want to. Have sex. With me.”

There isn’t enough blood left in his brain to stop him from saying the first thing that he thinks of: “Why?” _Fuck._

She shrugs. “We’re both attracted to each other.”

“So you want to...have sex? With me?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you and your boyfriend have some sort of open relationship, or...”

She smiles for the first time. His heart skips two beats. “I’ve told you you’re an idiot, right?”

He scrubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I mean, not lately, but—”

_“I don’t have a boyfriend.”_

“But you said—”

“When I thought a random person was texting me, that was my first instinct. Guys are more likely to back off if you say you have a boyfriend than if you just say you’re not interested.”

“So...you haven’t had a boyfriend? This whole time?”

She laughs. “You really are a himbo after all.”

“So that means—”

“You need me to spell it out?” She unzips her coat. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” She takes one arm out of its sleeve. “I haven’t had a boyfriend in years.” She slides the other arm out. “So there’s nothing stopping me from asking you this.” She tosses the coat on his couch. “Do you want to fuck me, or what?”

He doesn’t recognize the sound that leaves his mouth. It’s midway between a whimper and a groan, and it can’t possibly be attractive, but it apparently does nothing to deter her, because she’s still looking at him like she’d like to devour him whole.

“No. I mean, yes.” He scratches his neck in frustration. “I mean, no. Shit. Rey. You show up at my door looking like _that,_ and you say these things, and you expect me to be able to...” He balls his hands into fists of restraint.

She interjects. “I have no idea what you mean, ‘looking like that’—I’m wearing my oldest sweater, and—”

“Looking like _you.”_

“Oh.” She hesitates. “So...why don’t you want to...”

“Of _course_ I want to have sex with you. Jesus Christ. It’s taking everything in me not to tear off your leggings and pick you up and fuck you against the door.”

“Hey, these are good leggings, so you better not—”

“Shit! Rey! Can you stop talking for one second, so I can try to say this!”

“Oh, well _excuuuse me,_ I didn’t realize that my _shrill feminine voice_ was so insufferably annoy—”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you damn well know—”

“This was _obviously_ a bad idea, I don’t know why I even bothered—”

“Talking to you is like literally banging my head against a—”

“Ugh! Why did you have to be so—”

“You drive me absolutely fucking—”

“Such a massive—”

_“I love you!”_

She gapes at him. He waits, breath bated.

Her jaw hangs open. She makes an explosive noise that would probably classify as the most violent scoff he’s ever heard.

She recovers enough, finally, to say, “That’s...what...you don’t _love_ me.” She scoffs again.

“Why not?”

She fingers a hole by the cuff of her sweater. “I mean, that’s not...it would be _silly_ if...you don’t even...I’m not...” Her hand quirks in a _you know what I mean_ gesture.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Well, you hardly even _know_ me, for one thing.”

“I know you work sixty hours a week at three jobs, and you have a 4.0 GPA and a merit scholarship. I know you try not to put the British ‘u’ in words, but it sometimes slips in anyway. I know you hate being called sweetheart and don’t mind being called sunshine. I know you feel guilty when you think you’ve been excessively harsh with someone. I know you hold yourself to an impossibly high academic standard. I know you have your life together in a way that I can only dream about. I know you’re up at all hours of the night. I know you really want to knee me in the balls. And I know that that’s not a lot in the scheme of things, but I can learn more things about you. If you tell me.”

She crosses her arms protectively across her chest. “Three of those things were wrong.”

“Which ones?”

She bites her lip. “Can you sit down on the couch?”

“Yeah?”

“But facing that way.” She points at the dining room table.

“Okay?” He sits at the end nearest the table and awkwardly turns to face it. He feels her come sit behind him.

“I’m going to tell you which three were wrong, but you can’t look at me while I’m talking, okay? I can only do this if...” She trails off. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

She hesitates for long enough that he thinks she’s changed her mind. Finally she blurts out, “I don’t want to knee you in the balls.”

The knot in his throat loosens. “Okay.”

“You said I don’t mind being called sunshine. That’s not true. I like it. A lot.”

A warmth starts creeping through his chest. “Okay.”

“And the third thing...” She pauses. “You said one time that you’re kind of a mess. I don’t know what’s going on in your life. But this idea of me that you seem to have, as someone who has it all figured out, some perfect kind of I don’t even know... That’s not me. I feel like I’m barely holding it together most days.

“And I think you’ve pieced together this picture in your mind of a person who doesn’t exist and convinced yourself that you...care about her. But it’s not me. I’m...” She takes a trembling breath. “I’m kind of a mess, too.”

He realizes after that he should’ve asked her permission to turn around, but he didn’t, and that’s why she’s clinging to him and sobbing into his shirt and that’s why his arms are wrapped around her. He holds her for a long time, but he would have done it for longer. To keep feeling what this feels like: being this for someone. For _her._

Her sobs quiet and she pulls back from his chest. He cradles her cheek in his hand and wipes her tears with his thumb.

She looks up at him with tear-red eyes. “You don’t love me.”

“I mean, I do, but okay.”

She smiles wetly. “You’re dumb.”

“Okay.” He smooths the hair back from her temple.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay.”

* * *

They make it to his bedroom gradually, because there are important things to do along the way. Like kiss the hand intertwined in his. And press her up against the wall in the hallway and just look at her for a minute, because he can. And tug off his shirt, and help steady her when she stumbles and laughs trying to take her leggings and underwear off. When they make it through the door to his room she palms him through his jeans and grins and presses up on tiptoes and nips at his ear. “You like me _so_ much. It’s embarrassing.”

He grabs her waist and pulls her flush with his front and grinds against her and smirks. “Can you feel exactly how embarrassed I am?”

“Fuck me,” she pants, running greedy hands over his bare shoulders.

“Nope,” he grins. “I’m gonna make love to you. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

She chortles. “Don’t you dare!”

He kisses her nose, still thrusting against her. “I’m gonna,” he grins.

“You’re not going to do anything if you don’t take your jeans off,” she pants.

He smirks. “Impatient, aren’t you?”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “Oh, like you’re not? You’ve been wanting to fuck me ever since you saw my picture.”

“You have no idea,” he groans, tipping her head to give his mouth access to her neck.

“I do,” she sasses, “I just told you.”

“You always have to be right, don’t you?” He wrenches himself away so her hands can find the button at his fly.

“It’s not that I _have_ to be,” she smirks, pulling the zipper down. “I just am.”

He tugs his boxers down with his jeans and kicks them both free. He stands in just his socks. “I love you.”

“Mmm,” she smiles, looping her sweatered arms over his shoulders again and craning her head up to face his. She kisses his chin. “You’re dumb.”

“You’re still wearing clothes.”

“Barely. You can still fuck me if I’m wearing a sweater.”

He kisses her forehead. “Are you cold?”

“I will be if I take my sweater off.”

He tightens his arms around her back. “You know if you leave your sweater on for sex, that means we’re not just fucking.”

She gropes his ass. “How d’you figure that?”

“Because it means you know that I care more about you being comfortable than being sexy.”

Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me, are you saying I’m _not_ sexy in my sweater?”

His arms tighten around her. “Okay, I may have misspoken.”

“Just because you’re some kind of hot-blooded Greek god furnace of a human...”

“Wait, can we go back to the Greek god part?”

“Are we just going to fuck standing in the middle of your room, or what? Because you do have a bed—”

He silences her with a kiss. A real one. No teasing left. He pulls back to search her face. “Just tell me it’s real for you. That it’s not just me.”

She swallows. “It’s real,” she whispers.

He lays her back on the bed, then. She’s not laughing anymore, and neither is he.

He should do it right. He should eat her out until her thighs clamp around his ears and her nails tear a new hole in her sweater. But when she’s spread out on his bed and she opens her legs and she reaches for him, he can’t wait any more than the handful of seconds it takes to roll on a condom. He settles his body on top of hers where it belongs and he nudges her entrance and finds her extravagantly wet and he kisses her as he feeds his cock in. He stills, buried to the hilt, and he looks down at her and she looks up at him and smiles softly and the world shifts on its axis and no one can feel it except him and maybe her.

She wraps her legs around him. He starts to move, thrusting slowly. He doesn’t understand how this is only the first time. It’s inconceivable that he should know her, he should recognize that thing inside her mind or her heart or her soul that makes him realize, Oh. It’s _you._

“Rey,” he murmurs wonderingly as he moves inside her.

“Yes,” she trembles, pulling his face down for a kiss. “Yes.”

His thrusts quicken and her gasps become moans and she wraps her hands as far as they can fit around his straining biceps and his balls slap against her. He buries his face in her neck at the edge of her sweater, and how is he ever going to be able to see her in a sweater again without thinking of _this,_ this incredible, impossible thing. He pauses and she whines but he needs to know, so he asks, “Do you like it?”

She huffs an incredulous laugh. “Yes. Don’t stop.”

“Do you like me?”

She twines her fingers in his hair. “I like you so fucking much.”

“Good,” he says, “Okay.” And he snakes an arm under her hips and he tilts them up to meet him and he sets to fucking her properly, with strokes that make her eyes bulge and her throat cry out as he pounds her, teaching his body to hers. Teaching her what he can do, what he can give her over and over until she sobs from it: the pleasure and the worship and the recognition.

“Please,” she gasps. He can barely hear her over the pistoning squelch and the clap of skin. “Please.”

“Yes,” he grunts out. “Anything.”

Another time he’ll last longer. Her peak won’t send him over the edge too, and he won’t collapse on top of her so soon, sweat on wool on trembling flesh. But he’ll still kiss her, like he does, and he’ll thread his fingers through hers and press his cheek to her cheek and chuckle in amazement, like he does.

They lie in each other’s arms after. They take turns going to the bathroom, and she takes off her sweater and climbs under the covers with him, and the first time he feels her naked breasts, they’re smushed against his chest while they tell each other things.

“My mom is sick.”

She strokes his breastbone and listens.

“I take her for treatment twice a month. I barely recognize her afterwards. She’s so...depleted. Like the doctors suck out what makes her my mom and just send her body home. She’s so tired she can’t even smile.”

“That must be scary,” she murmurs.

“I hate seeing her like that. I hate not being able to do anything to make it better.”

She presses her lips to his chest.

“On the days that I was an asshole to you, that’s why.”

She wraps her leg closer around his.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“I love you.”

She smiles into his skin. “Okay.”

Another time she’ll be ready to say the words too, because saying is harder than feeling, but both are hard. Another time she’ll admit to herself that she too has realized what he already knows, what they are to each other.

_My half._

* * *

**One Year Later**


End file.
